


Just Below the Crowded Avenue

by Princessfbi



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Awkwardness, Claustrophobia, Coping Mechanisms, Distractions, Getting to Know Each Other, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Major Character Injury, Panic Attacks, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Shameless use of the HC that Tony has soft shirts, Shock, Star Wars - Freeform, Steve and Peter don't know where they stand with one another, The flu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 12:23:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11874336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princessfbi/pseuds/Princessfbi
Summary: Instead of answering, Steve just squinted up at Droney. “This thing play any tunes?”“This is a highly technical drone, Steve,” Tony’s indignation echoed out of Droney’s speakers. “Not some car radio.”“Droney,” Peter said, a small smile lifting on his face. “Play my Bastille playlist.”





	Just Below the Crowded Avenue

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning: I do mention puking but not in great detail. I literally just say the word and that's about it.

The first thing Peter thinks when he hears Mr. Stark’s voice is that he’d fallen asleep in the lab again. The fire in his throat corrects that line of thinking almost immediately.

“Peter! Wake up, kid!”

Peter groaned and the sound ripped a series of hacking coughs through his already beaten frame. He was choking and the air he’s took in made the fire in his throat only worsen. He scrambled for his mask, feeling tight and claustrophobic, and ribbed it from his head, not caring that he takes some of his hair with it.

It took him a few moments to adjust to the darkness with the only source of light coming from Droney who was hovering above him.

“Peter!”

“Mr. Stark?” Peter asked when he finally gathered enough spit in his mouth to swallow past the dryness. Droney shifted as if to serve for a nod.

“We’re coming to get you, kid,” Mr. Stark said, his voice echoing through Droney’s speakers. “I need you to tell me if Cap is with you.”

Cap? Where… Where was he? Why was Mr. Stark asking about Cap?

It was in that moment that his whole body lit up a firecracker of pain and it wasn’t until he was coughing again that he realized the sound he was hearing was his own pitiful cry. It hurt. Oh God. Everything hurt and felt uncomfortable and confining and he couldn't see. Oh  _God_ why couldn't he see?

“Wh…Wh…Where am I?” He stammered, his voicing pitching up several octaves. “Mr. Stark… Mr. Stark...”

The crumbling concrete. The ash of insulation. His legs were numb and his hips were pinned. There was something under him and poking at his side.

“Where am I?” He asked again as the blood rushed into his ears like a Hulk roar. “Mr. Stark, I _can’t…I can’t… Please… I…”_

He was crying. Peter could tell by the wheezing coming from his mouth and the way his headache pushed into the sides of his temples. Mucus built up in his sinuses and his eyes stung but everything was flooding back so fast he couldn’t even figure out what to deal with first.   
  
He’d fallen. The ground had literally collapsed from under him and he had fallen. People had shouted his name. Karen had blasted warnings throughout his mask. And then suddenly, Steve was like a human missile directed towards him and caught him, twisting so he took the brunt of the impact before they landed and rolled away from one another.

Something sharp had smacked into Peter but he didn’t have time to comprehend what was happening then because Steve was over top of him in a matter of seconds, shielding him with his body and his actual shield as the rest of the building fell down on top of them.

This was so much more different than when Mr. Toomes dropped the ceiling on him. A whole _building_ had crumpled on top of them. There were layers and layers of what used to be floors of an entire building settling on top of him and the only reason there was room at all was because Steve’s shield was wedged over Peter’s head and his body was the thing pinning Peter’s hips to the ground.

“Get… Please… P… Please… Mr. Stark… Get me out…”

“Peter!” Tony’s voice shouted, Droney zooming close to Peter’s face and silencing his babbling. “Peter, listen to me. I’m going to get you out. But I need you to stay with me. Can you do that?”

But Peter was already shaking his head and trembling so hard that some of the cement foundation fell. A strangled cry escaped his lips as he raised his arms to cover his head.

“Yes, you can! Ok. I need you to calm down, Peter. Listen to me. OK? It’s just you and me. You and me. Just like when we’re in the lab. I’m right here.” Tony’s voice was tight like it always was when he was working with an uncooperative element that he couldn’t control. Peter grasped onto that sound like it was a lifeline.

“I am right here, kiddo,” Tony said again. “I need you breathe for me. Do it for me. Easy breaths.”

Peter forced himself to do as Tony asked because it was all he could do. He winced against the pinch in his side but relaxed into breathing slow and easy.

“Alright, kid. You’re doing good. Now, I need to know. Can you see Cap? Is he with you?”

Peter looked down at the blond head, deadweight on his hips. Steve’s arm extended onto Peter’s shoulder, his hand limp and out of reach of the shield.

“He’s here,” Peter said, his tone breathy.

“Is he breathing?” Tony asked, devoid of any emotion. Peter was almost too afraid to check but slowly he held his hand under Steve’s nose and felt the hot shallow air expelling from his nostrils.

“He’s breathing.”

As if he knew he was being talked about, Steve winced into consciousness, his body twitching and squirming as the pain awoke his nerves.

“No don’t!” Peter gasped and put a hand on Steve’s collarbone but the debris above them shifted again. The building made a horrible avalanche of sounds and people were shouting from above and he was starting to hyperventilate again because there was no way he'd be able to lift his way out this time and---

“Steve!” Sam’s voice suddenly yelled as Droney zoomed over to Steve’s face. “Steve, you can’t move! The structure will fall on you and the kid more. Do not move!”

“What---“ Steve groaned before pressing his lips into a thin line.

“Peter? Remember what we said a minute ago about breathing. C’mon, Rogers.” Tony’s voice came back. “Tell our trainee everything is going to be fine. He won’t be able to argue with America.”

It was meant as a joke but Peter didn’t really feel like laughing. His chest felt so tight. Steve groaned again and squinted ahead of them before nodding and dropping his head back down, tilting it so it wasn’t entirely on Peter and rolled more onto his own shoulder. His arm, however, he didn’t move and if anything, he secured it over Peter which he appreciated because Steve was warm and Peter was starting to shiver as the cold seeped into his bones. They must have fallen all the way to the sublevel.

“Everything’s going to be fine, Pete,” Steve mumbled. Peter normally would’ve been annoyed that they were treating him like glass but to be honest he was certainly feeling a little vulnerable and entitled to be that way and Steve’s conscious presence was nice but only offered a little comfort.

Steve and Peter had barely spoken two words to each other since the Avengers reunited. Peter felt weird and out of place with the others and really, he knew well enough that they needed to figure out how to be around each other again and didn’t need Peter butting in to make things more awkward. Steve acted like he’d never been around a teenager before and bumbled through only the brief openings of small talks whenever they were together to the point that Peter had thought for a while that Steve held a grudge about the shield thing in Berlin. Tony was usually there to swoop Peter away before things got really weird.

But Peter would rather be trapped with Steve than by himself and oh _God_ that was a terrible thing to think. He wouldn’t want anyone trapped and thinking that made him an awful person because seriously he wouldn’t wish this on anyone especially not Captain Freaking America---

“It’s ok, kid,” Steve said, a hint of a laugh following his words. “I wouldn’t want to be down here by myself either.”

“Did I say all that out loud?”

Instead of answering, Steve just squinted up at Droney. “This thing play any tunes?”

“This is a highly technical drone, Steve,” Tony’s indignation echoed out of Droney’s speakers. “Not some car radio.”

“Droney,” Peter said, a small smile lifting on his face. “Play my Bastille playlist.”

The soft strumming of guitars danced around their small space from an acoustic Bastille had done on some guy’s lawn. Tony let out a sardonic gasp over the music.

“Betrayed by my own recruit.”

Peter and Steve quietly snickered together and waited for the rest of the team to dig them out. Whatever had made Steve wonder if Droney could play music was working because only after a few songs, Peter found himself relaxing in the comfortable silence between the two, the occasional quips from Tony, and the chorus of the songs.

“Skip,” Peter sighed when _Pompeii_ started up. He really didn’t want to hear a song about buildings falling down. “Droney play that Norah Jones playlist.”

“I didn’t take you for the type, kid,” Tony said. Steve clutched Peter a little harder which hurt at first but felt a little better because he hadn’t realized he’d been shaking.   
  
God, it was freezing.

“It’s what May listens to when she’s grading papers,” Peter replied.

“What’s the ETA, Tony?” Steve asked.

“It’s hard to say. Why?” 

“It’s getting a little cold down here,” Steve said, something laced in his tone that Peter was too tired to investigate further. Tony didn’t reply but there was a distinct blasting sound from somewhere up above.

“I like her,” Steve said after a while and it took Peter a second to realize he was talking to him. “The girl singing. What did you say her name was again?”

“Norah Jones. It’s some lady May likes to listen to.”

“And May is your aunt right?”

“Yeah.” Peter’s eyes stung as he closed them, angling his neck for a more comfortable position.

“Stay awake with me, Pete. Don’t leave this old guy to listen to this stuff alone.”

“You can put whatever you want on…” He didn’t want to be down there. He didn’t want to be stuck. He didn’t really want to be down there with Steve--- even though it was better than being alone--- and he just wanted it all to be over.

“Nah, this is fine.” Steve squeezed Peter’s shoulder hard enough to hurt. “Stay awake, Peter.”

“I am.” Peter hissed, shrugging away from the grip.

“What’s your aunt do for a living?”

“She’s a college professor.”

“No kidding! What does she teach?”

“English. Journalism.”

Peter wanted to tell Steve he didn’t have to keep talking to him. The super soldier was being painfully obvious at his attempts to distract Peter but he admitted it was nice of Steve to try even if the small talk was unbearable on top of being stuck. He knew he made Steve uncomfortable so the effort was appreciated. But Peter didn’t want to have make the situation harder for Steve. He was, after all, also buried under an entire building.

“What about you, kid? Got any favorite subjects at school?” There was something stressed in Steve’s tone, pinched and worried but barely concealing it.

“Peter?” He asked with a little shake when Peter didn’t respond.

“I don’t know…” Peter finally answered. He felt more than he saw when Steve shifted upwards and Peter lurched over to try and stop him. Pain raced through his side as he curled fingers around Steve’s suit.

“Stop!” Peter grimaced. Maybe Steve didn’t know where he was. He probably had a head wound. “Cap… Captain America stop!”

“You can call me Steve,” he said, piercing blue eyes leveling Peter. His hand lightly slapped Peter’s face and Peter could barely get out a glare towards him. “You need to stay awake, Peter. Don’t move too much.”

That was rich coming from the guy who almost crushed them just a second ago.

“I’m awake… I’m awake.” Peter’s tongue felt like sandpaper in his mouth and cotton was stuffed in his cheeks.

“How much longer, Tony?” Why did he sound so panicked?

A loud blast answered for him and Steve grabbed onto the wedged shield with his hand, bracing them for any incoming debris. Clean air slipped through the cracks and Tony sounded closer and Peter was starting to feel the itch to claw his way out even more. So close. He was so close. He wanted out!

Peter skimmed his hand down a little bit further down his side, trying to grasp onto his forgotten mask. Maybe Karen would have some help in---

“No, Peter don’t!”

Pain. Sharp and rigid. Hot and all encompassing and stealing all the air Peter had in his lungs in that moment. 

“Peter!” Steve was yelling in Peter’s face again but Peter could barely take in the sounds of his own hyperventilating.

He was more careful the next time, his fingers light as a feather as he skimmed them down the side of his body and hit the rusted metal of the rebar sticking out of the side of his abdomen.

“Peter breathe! C’mon buddy! Stay with me! Tony! We need to get out now!” Steve was definitely shouting because Peter’s senses came slamming down onto him as fast as the building. He could hear everything. He could smell everything. He could _feel_ everything.

“Oh God,” Peter croaked because he didn’t know and now he couldn’t forget.

“---Peter, listen. Cap is right. You can’t move. The rebar is the only thing keeping you from bleeding out. Damnit, Steve! Keep him talking!” But he couldn't because he didn't know anything about Peter to distract him and Peter was too far gone to pull his head above water.

"Peter!" Steve shouted. 

“Steve,” Tony said, firmly. “Brace for impact.”

Steve circled his arm around Peter and pulled himself over the teen before bracing his shoulder against the Vibranium arch of his shield.

And then Peter blacked out for real.

* * *

The soft cotton t-shirt smelled like Tony and surrounded Peter in scents of coffee, oil, and traces of Pepper’s crisp perfume. It served as an act of modesty for Peter, who hadn’t brought another spare set of clothing with him before they’d raced into the fight. It also hid the still hideous jagged wound stitched together on his stomach. It swallowed Peter’s frame but fit better than the t-shirt he had to borrow from Happy that one time he’d taken a plunge in the Hudson.

Peter was also 90 percent certain he was never going to give it back. It was loose as opposed to constricting and after having a metal steel rebar sticking out of him, it felt like the softest thing he’d ever touched. 

He should’ve stayed in bed. If Mr. Stark saw him, he’d have a conniption and Peter wouldn’t see the light of day for a week. But he was itching to get out of bed and walk around. Probably because he could. He had every intention of making his way back to bed once he stretched his legs a little. Honest.  

But then he spotted Steve, hunched over a mug, and nursing a growing swollen knot on his head with an icepack.

Steve heard his shuffling before Peter could make it all the way over to him and frowned.

“You should be in bed, Pete.” He was stern in the way that suggested he was too tired to be anything else and Peter tugged on the hem of his shirt, acutely aware of the line of stitches pressing through the material.

He shrugged because he didn’t really know what to say otherwise. He never really knew what to say to Steve. It’d been so much easier talking to the super soldier in battle and something told Peter that Steve felt the same. Maybe because while fighting, Peter was an ally--- or a very random opponent--- and in any other situation, he was just a kid.

It was jarring to think that. He’d gotten so used to the two ideas clashing that he never really considered what it would be like to have them so separated.

Steve held up the mug to him.

“Warm milk?” It was an offer and Peter shook his head.

“No thanks.”

Steve nodded and fiddled with the rim of his mug, lost for words again.

“I had a bad case of the flu once.” When the blurted confession spilled out of his lips Peter felt his blush race all the way up to his ears. Steve stopped and lifted a brow.

“My aunt gave me some warm milk to see if it would help… She… She didn’t know it was the flu yet… I was sick right after so… It’s always been… Yeah.”

He should turn around and go back to bed. Everything was so awkward and Peter just made it worse because who wants to hear that the thing you enjoy caused someone to vomit incessantly when they were ten.

“This the same aunt who listens to that Jones lady?” Steve asked, hints of a smiling slipping onto his face.

“Yeah,” Peter said, breathing and catching a small sheepish smile of his own. Steve hummed, gazing in front of him as if remembering something sweet. He seemed so lost in the memory that Peter was just working up the courage to say goodnight and go back to bed when---

“I had the flu once when I was a kid. Blueberries.”

Blueberries? Peter blinked as Steve sipped his milk.

“I can’t even smell them. Oh man, I was puking for days.”

And somehow, they were both snickering in the way that only boys could about gross things. The flu wouldn’t have been Peter’s first choice at trying to bond with Captain Freaking America but whatever works, he guessed.

Steve sobered and continued to stare into the distance. “Of course, that was the Spanish Flu so I almost died…”

Oh shit. Peter was already bracing his legs to run as fast as they could carry him but then Steve was laughing again and dropping his mug onto the counter.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped between laughs. “I’m sorry, Pete. I was only kidding.”

_Ho-ly shit!_

Steve seemed to take pity on Peter because he eventually leaned over the counter and placed his mug in the sink before striding towards Peter with half of the stamina he usually had. He placed a gentle hand on Peter’s shoulder, the same one that he’d squeezed until there were bruises there to keep Peter awake under the rubble, and steered him back around towards medical.

“I’m sorry. C’mon. Let’s get you back to bed.”

Peter didn’t want to say he didn’t want to sleep. He didn’t want to admit that being confined to bed was just as bad as being buried under a building. It sounded dramatic and childish and _stupid._ Besides, Peter figured he owed Cap an apology and maybe a thanks but it felt trapped in the back of his throat. Like an apology or thanks meant an ending and for the same stupid reasons he wasn’t ready to let Steve go.

He was never really sure if he was that transparent or if Steve was feeling the same thing but Steve squeezed his shoulder as they rounded the corner and smiled down at him.

“So, I hear you’re the man I should talk to about this thing called Star Wars.”


End file.
